


Nameless; Or, the Man Without a Face

by tatertotarmy



Category: Tales of Xillia
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6473251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatertotarmy/pseuds/tatertotarmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days he was Alfred Vint Svent. Others, he was Alvin. Undercover he went by names he couldn't count on two hands. Some whispered Al beneath the sheets of a Fennmont hotel, some spat his name out like the poison he was.</p>
<p>But beneath everything, who was 'he'?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nameless; Or, the Man Without a Face

Today, he was Alfred Vint Svent. A name he had grown to hate, with every syllable spat out like bile whenever he had to speak it. A name that burned inside his ears when _that man_ called him from across the halls with an arm snaked low around his mother’s waist. He can see the way she squirmed, attempting to pull away from his uncle. She hasn’t told him anything, but he understands just what it meant. He used to see his father do the same thing, only it was loving, understanding, endearing. When his uncle did it, he could see the way her entire body tensed, leaning away only to be held close in an iron grip. It made him think of the days after his father’s death, where she would be sitting frozen on her bed, unresponsive no matter what Alfred said.

When Gilland gestured Alfred to approach, she tried to keep her composure. Alfred tried not to stare. He didn’t want his mom to feel bad. She hadn’t been doing so well lately, and he didn’t want to stare like when she forgot where their room was. Even if his uncle didn’t care, Alfred would try to for her sake. All Gilland wanted was information about Gilbert, the leader of Exodus that was kind to Alfred, made him feel a little less afraid about Rieze Maxia. 

Talks with Gilland had become routine, whether it be calmly in the presence of his mother or quietly in a secret room, with the occasional screams and poison spewed out. Alfred didn’t know which situation was worse, but he knew that his mother in the room meant he wouldn’t get hit for missing what Gilbert _specifically_ said. Alfred hated the talks. He hated memorizing every conversation with Gilbert. He just wanted to go back home, where his mother would read to him and his father would wake him up in the morning. Back home, where he wouldn’t be slapped for displaying any hesitance or reprimanded for any introversion he let slip out.

Today’s talk was short and to the point, though Alfred had to hold back vomit whenever he saw Gilland look at his mom. He stuttered through his report, though there were details missing, memory running away in fear in the face of his uncle. A stumble over the timeframe of when he watched a potential traitor caused another glare in his direction, which caused him to completely blank out. Alfred’s eyes grew wide, throat emptying as his eyes darted from his uncle to his mother.

Gilland merely waves him off, having done his duty.

Later, Alfred is beaten for insubordination. It’s becoming easier to deal with: a fact that scares him more than his uncle.

Today, he was Julio. A name that stumbled on his tongue, a name detached and deceptive of what he truly was: an Exodus spy acting as a servant in a noble house with a false name. It was one of the first jobs outside of the base, a first taste of freedom. His mother was starting to forget that the name ‘Alfred’ belonged to him. Last time, she called to him with his father’s name. It scares him sometimes, but Gilland says that there’s medicine to help her. He doesn’t have a choice on whether to believe his uncle or not. Gilland is his only option.

A man calls to him. He smells the stench of cologne, but fights everything down that screamed for escape. This was the reason he had been chosen for this mission, after all. If he didn’t do this, then he didn’t know what would happen to his mother. He couldn’t be the frightened child cowering in fear from his uncle. If he just did what his uncle wanted, then everything would be alright. He was getting used to this. From betraying the former leader of Exodus to betraying the man that cooed the name ‘Julio’ from the crack in the doorway, he was beginning to sleep at night knowing what he had done.

A smile slips onto his face like a mask, and he stands straight just as every servant would do. He’s begun thinking of this like some twisted game that he needed to win, a game where he needed to know where each chess piece fell on either side of the board. Maybe if he found a solution on another side of the board, he would be able to find a way out.

Even then, he was afraid of defying his uncle. Childhood fears hunted him like shadows from hell.

Today he was Al, a name spat at him between tears and screams. He barely moved from his position in the shadows as the Rashugal soldiers pulled her from their hotel room. The soldiers paid him no mind, knowing the weight of the money in his pocket: his prize for selling her out. But she would still see him standing in the distance, and her eyes tore into him as their life together blew into oblivion. He could still feel her skin wrapped in his, her dull eyes given life whenever they met his own. He would whisper ‘Jill’, she would whisper ‘Al’. She would whisper ideals of a life she wanted, a life away from the deception and the Rats…

He couldn’t remember what he would whisper back. They were all lies, anyway.

And in that moment, standing alone in the shadow of a shop, he felt nothing. It was like his entire body had become numb to it all, staring at Jill like she was a faraway woman, an ideal that he couldn’t hope to know. Even now, his feelings beforehand had become distant. Were those warm feelings in his stomach love, or were they illusions to help perpetuate the lie? He couldn’t tell anymore. He couldn’t get involved. He had to be with Exodus, to see his hometown again, a place where everything was okay and nothing like the hell he had been living in. He knew he couldn’t be with her, so he resorted to the only way he knew how to get away from someone.

Break them until he could see the hate in their eyes.

Today, he was Alvin, and he felt sick in the presence of his own companions. Not really his companions, even in his disguise. He was a hired man, both by their dime and by Exodus’ grip on his mother’s pills. Between the lord of spirits and a bright eyed kid with bright ideas, he felt himself slipping. After parting ways when the _all-knowing_ lord blew her legs off, here he was again on orders from his uncle. He didn’t know why he didn’t just decide to stand in the background, watching from a distance. It was easier to watch from up close, of course, but that wasn’t the reason why. 

Was he getting soft, getting the same feelings that he got for Jill – or Presa, from what he’d heard – and would have to end it? Would he see the hate in their eyes when he finally was given the orders to murder Milla? 

Today he was Alvin the traitor, clinging to the trigger like it was his last chance at life. His breaths grew quicker, mind racing between memories and temptation as he looked down at Jude, beaten in battle. In the corner of the eye, he could still see red contaminating the grass, flowing from Leia. Since Muzet had taken his leash, it was obvious they hadn’t been eating. Jude, even in his rage, couldn’t even land a punch that could save Alvin from himself. Instead of being put down like the dog he was, Alvin was victorious, one shot away from being free.

He could feel the lies seeping through his soul. Why was he shaking on the trigger? The shit he had done so far had been worse. Betraying the leader of Exodus for his uncle, selling Presa out for extra cash, and breaking Isla’s chances at freedom. And for what? Alvin wanted things to go back to what it was before the cruise, back when his mother still remembered his name and he wasn’t a dog of war. He wanted to go back to Elympios, where things weren’t freakishly alien.

And he knew that it all had been for nothing.

But he couldn’t let go of the gun. Jude looked up at him with the same eyes Presa held when she was still Jill. An innocent woman broken by reality. Now, a bright eyed honors student beaten and broken. Alvin felt bile sting his throat and leave an acidic taste in his mouth. He had to do this. He needed to. Elympios was the silver on his tongue, the bright light in this fucked up world he lived in. He tried to tell himself that this was just another painless kill, another tie to saw off.

He hated how he lied to himself.

Today, he didn’t know who he was.

Beaten, battered, broken, brainless. A husk of what he once was. Torn open from guilt, from fear, from emptiness. A puppet who lost its strings, a toy without a master. He wasn’t given a mask, a façade, and name. Just him. But what did he amount to aside from a trail of orders and destruction? Who was Alvin? He just remembers the child of who he once was, crying when he watched his father swept away in the waves.

“Alvin.”

He was still, remaining in the corner of his cousin’s apartment. Away from the suspicious eyes of his companions. All but Jude, who stood above him. Alvin couldn’t help but think of the last real time they had spoken, him from behind the barrel of his gun. But life was going on, like it didn’t even matter. He could hear them casually chatting over dinner, a collection of food that barely had a scent between a heavy cocktail of spices. The food was shitter than the meals in Reize Maxia. Looking back, he remembered the meals being extravagant. Now that he was back, he could remember how dull everything tasted. This world was dying, and the food was just a reflection of that.

Was this the place he killed for? Even his mother wouldn’t have gotten better in Elympios.

“Alvin. Aren’t you going to eat?”

He couldn’t look up, couldn’t look Jude in the eye after all that he’d done. Why should he deserve the kindness? Why should anyone bother anymore? Balan didn’t know, probably wouldn’t care to listen. Alvin was inches from killing Jude, yet he was standing there with a plate of shitty food in his hands.

What part of him thought he was friends with the honors student? Was that a lie? Something to help him get through the job?

A sigh, a sign that Jude was done with him. He set the plate down next to Alvin and walked away to join the others.

The others he didn’t belong to anymore.

The others that wouldn’t mind a life without a man without a name.


End file.
